


Cravings

by Luthor



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pregnancy, baby au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/pseuds/Luthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Regina.” She even sniffed. “I am asking you for this one thing. One sip – just one sip of Bud, not even a sip, just a taste, and I will never complain about celery or sugar-free peanut butter again.”</p><p>“Emma…” Regina shook her head with a sigh. “We agreed; no alcohol until after the baby’s born. Unless, of course, you decide to breast feed–” at Emma’s premature protestations, she raised a hand and commanded quiet. “Not while you’re pregnant.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cravings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MinaMauveine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinaMauveine/gifts).



> So, I found a finished fic in my OUAT folder? Also, sugar-free peanut butter is a thing. A thing I may need to invest in. 
> 
> Contains the odd expletive, but otherwise just a quick and fluffy read.
> 
> Mina, I did you a thing.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

Regina lifted her eyes from the papers scattered over the desk before her, to the woman leaning, slouched, against her office door frame. The downturned pout of her mouth twitched in what Regina supposed was greeting, and Emma pushed away from the door, accepting Regina’s awareness as invitation.

She grabbed the back of the closest chair and pulled it, with a metallic shriek of its two back legs, to the front of Regina’s desk. One hand on its back, she levelled Regina with a stare. Regina arched an eyebrow, and the backs of Emma's knees trembled, as though a single blink of an eyelid from Regina could command Emma from her feet and onto the chair. It made Emma want to give in, as though her will was a fickle, half-starved thing that craved affection, and had found it at Regina’s hand.

But she did not.

The subtle defiance made Regina sigh. “Ms. Swan,” she finally greeted, eyebrows lifting with forced indulgence.

“Don’t call me that.” Emma’s lips puckered further into her pout. “Not while we’re at home.”

Regina offered her a small, appeasing smile. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“Do you actually have time to listen to me reel off the list?” She shook her head as Regina made to respond, and fell into the seat more out of the ache in her ankles, than buckling under Regina’s will. “I made some lunch.”

Regina’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she set her pen down to lean her elbows atop the papers strewn across her desk. “I’ll be finished with this soon.”

“Just bits of celery. Guess you can’t really say I actually _made_ anything,” Emma muttered, picking at a stray eyelash. “Prepared is more the word. With peanut butter, though—that healthy kind you buy, don’t worry. It doesn't make it taste any less like dirt.”

Having found her left eye’s sole irritant, Emma pulled her finger and thumb back to view the culprit – a solitary lash – before brushing it away between her parted legs. She slouched a little further, rested her hands over her stomach, and met Regina’s gaze.

“I want a drink.”

Regina drew in a long, deep breath, her eyes momentarily closing, and Emma felt as though she'd just sucked the very patience from her, to use for herself. “We’ve already talked about this,” she tittered. “To be abstinent you must abstain.”

A morose howl sprouted from Emma’s throat. “One drink- one sip, I don’t care, just… need to taste it,” she groaned, making a fist of one hand and shaking it before her, as though grasping the slender neck of a beer bottle. The hand fell back to her lap at Regina’s unchanging stare, and so she changed tactics, made a shelf of her bottom lip.

The tears were easy to conjure – the ability to cry over the most minor of altercations and pleasures was often an unavoidable annoyance (like when the supermarket stocked her favourite ice cream, or when Regina had so casually pointed out that she’d be able to experience raising a child from birth, this time, like it was no big deal at all).

“Regina.” She even sniffed. “I am asking you for this one thing. One sip – just one sip of Bud, not even a sip, just a taste, and I will never complain about celery or sugar-free peanut butter again.”

“Emma…” Regina shook her head with a sigh. “We agreed; no alcohol until after the baby’s born. Unless, of course, you decide to breast feed–” at Emma’s premature protestations, she raised a hand and commanded quiet. “Not while you’re pregnant.”

Emma slipped that bit further into her seat, her jaw set hard with petulance. Regina had made up her mind, though, and she knew futility when it was staring her in the face. But still her mouth watered for that cool, refreshing mouthful of beer, and her fingers, in slipping to the seat of the chair, dug into the cushion and squeezed. Vaguely, she wondered where she’d last tossed Regina’s stress-relief ball.

“I will never forgive you for this,” she sniffed.

Regina nodded her head, took up her pen, and released a breath.

“I think I can live with that.” She lifted her eyes, threw Emma a pointed look, and said, “Your celery’s waiting.”

Emma’s top lip curled at the thought, and, thoroughly beaten, she pulled herself up, one hand to the protruding lump beneath her jumper. She left the chair where it sat, just before Regina's desk, as though forcing the Regina out of her seat to return it at some point was any form of revenge. Though she had to admit, hearing the back legs of the chair giving a painful screech along tiled flooring, just seconds later, delivered its own brand of satisfaction.

# # # #

 _Ding, dong_.

“Yeah, who is it?” Emma called as she reached for the door handle, so used to the thin wood of Mary Margaret’s apartment door to break the habit. She pulled the door open with a step backwards and gazed upon the mayoral manor’s visitor. “Oh. It’s you.”

Regina easily repressed an eye roll and stepped forward, pushing a grocery bag into Emma’s hands. Now free, she locked her car from a distance and stepped inside.

“Dinner will be late,” she announced, following Emma through to the kitchen to set her bag down.

“’Kay.”

“I’m making lasagna.”

“Yeah. I’ll be in there if you need me.” Emma moved to return to the living room, and the groove that her body had worked into the sofa opposite the television, but hesitated at the sound of a glass bottle _thunk_ ing down against the island countertop. “What’s that?” she asked, spinning around to catch Regina grinning across at her.

Drawn to the unexpected joy present on her girlfriend’s face, she finally turned her gaze to the source of the noise. A single, solitary bottle of Budweiser stood on the counter.

“Is that…?”

But it was. It definitely was. She didn’t need Regina to confirm this.

“Yes. And no, it’s not for you.”

All at once, Emma stepped up to the counter with enough remorse that Regina thought she might just burst into tears (and, really, it wasn’t so ridiculous a thought).

“Are you serious?” Emma squeaked. “You’re… Regina, that’s really fucking _cruel_. Denying me my human rights wasn’t enough, you just had to rub it in, too?”

Regina reached for the bottle opener, popping the top in a fluid motion, and came around the counter with it in hand.

“You’d best appreciate this,” she grumbled, before tipping her head back and taking a large, mouth-filling swig.

No sooner had she swallowed, she wrapped one arm Emma and pulled her into a kiss. The other woman’s delayed surprise allowed her tongue entrance, and just when Emma was about to pull back with a string of curses, she tasted that familiar tang of beer.

With renewed vigour, she groaned into Regina’s mouth and pressed her tongue deeper, content to lap every last essence of the beer from the dark recesses of Regina’s mouth.

She pulled back with a moan, staring at Regina with a demanding kind of affection. “Drink some more,” she prompted, already pushing Regina’s wrist up and carrying the bottle closer to her mouth.

With a slow smirk, Regina lifted the bottle, asking just before its rim could rest upon her lips, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Emma groaned a little as the bottle tipped back and Regina’s lips closed around it, almost managing to completely keep her features from contorting as the cool mouthful of beer slid down her throat. The beer bottle lowered, leaving just a bead of escaped liquid caught precariously between her lips, before Regina's tongue came out to steal that away, too.

Emma leaned in then, and Regina was only too happy to grant her entry. Her tongue slid along Regina’s as though collecting that single drop of beer, and Emma groaned into her mouth as their lips met.

“Yeah… forgiven. Whatever.”


End file.
